By Default
by libbyluvs
Summary: ...maybe the rough beginning, the cesarean section, or that particular midwife are to blame for the spark's future hardships. However, the enraged screams of the laboring carrier claimed the sparkling's startling color and hard lined frame were just first of many viable causes for her hatred.
1. Chapter 1

**Your only Warning:** Lots of triggers and icky stuff. Don't read if you can't handle mature content.

Like most journeys from the warm depths of The Well to the cold universe of things tangible, and inevitably back to the welcoming arms of Primus, this spark's voyage began with emergence. And maybe the rough beginning, the cesarean section, or that particular midwife are to blame for the spark's future hardships. However, the enraged screams of the laboring carrier claimed the sparkling's startling color and hard lined frame were just first of many viable causes for her hatred.

The room was fairly dim, not unlike the gloomy mood felt by the four occupying the heated space. A noble femme cursed and groaned on a medical berth as she screamed through the birthing process. On call, and expertly attending the renowned Lady, a diligent and kind nurse allowed the carrier to crush the circuitry in his left hand while regulating her vitals and priming the birth canal for a sparkling to push through. Next to the berth, the midwife equipped her servos for delivering the first heir of the Household. Across the room, and frowning, a noble mech watched detachedly; the color of the tiles decorating the wall adjacent his howling bonded more interesting than her suffering.

The Lord of the House's indifference wasn't shared by the inquisitive few hovering outside. Servants and loyalists alike who purposefully passed the room to gain knowledge of the emergence all anxiously lined the corridor, audials pressed up against the wall. The Lady was crying out to any who'd hear and her pain drew them like an accident on a Vossian runway. Some listened on in sympathy, others morbid curiosity. Although, when they made out the outright panic in the femme's screams when the midwife demanded pain (and EM) dampeners, and a sterile scalpel, not one could stop their spark from racing. Assisted emergence was rare, and considered a weakness on the carrier's part for being unable to deliver on their own.

Minutes into the operation most had to flee from the volatile EM fluctuations alone.

"Oh, Primus, here we go… here it comes.." the midwife was elbow joints deep in the Lady's gestation tank, and with a well angled pull-, "…and here she- uh- is!"

The sparkling was free of its carrier and hastily rushed over and deposited in a wary sire's servos within seconds, and just as quick all attention was back to the exhausted femme. The nurse ineffectively tried to calm the carrier and keep her components inside her chassis as she fought to get a clear view of the thing that cost her so much pride and dignity.

"Let me see! Give her to me!"

The sire was almost empathetic as the stoic mech held the newly emerged sparkling in the light, so that his bond mate could see. Dripping with energon and other bodily fluids not its own, the new spark cried and flailed healthily, calling out for fuel from its creators. Not kliks born and already the sire knew his creation would be considered an abomination.

His suspicions rang true. As soon as she could pull herself up and lock prideful eyes on her new spark she found it undesirable.

"No!"

He tried, "A mech is not a total loss-"

"It's not a femme!" she raged, struggling against the midwife, who strove to sterilize and seal the split protoform of the carrier's midsection, "It's- It's heinous! Filthy!"

The sire frowned, unconsciously cradling the mechling to his chassis, "I'll not have him terminated."

"Of course not." The noble femme snarled. "You've never cared about me, our House!"

Turning away, the sire shielded the wailing sparkling from the animosity it would endure for just a blissful while. The child's frame was as boxy shaped as the vocalizer that emitted such needy sounds. Undeniably a mech. And red, shockingly so. On any other cybertronian of most other classes such vibrant plating would be acceptable, even sought after. For one of the higher standing mecha it was exceptionable.

Highbrow frowned, evading kicking legs as he checked the sparkling's lower chassis for the severed interconnection cord, feeling about the underside until he came upon what he dreaded.

"Oh, my mechling…"

The child was silent all at once, drawing his sire's attention to a liquid streaked and chubby face. Round optics wide, but unafraid, the sparkling stared right back, as though he could tell what his sire was thinking and that he was sorry for emerging as Primus made him for his creator's sake.

"I'm sorry, Cliffclimber, but it appears you have my long face plates and ridiculous nasal ridge," Highbrow said...

to lighten the mood.


	2. Chapter 2

Magneem was a beautiful femme, or at least she had been before her useless bonded sparked her up with that thing. Gone were her fine curves and glossy finish. The one and only lady of HelmStrong House, who once had no equal in allure and refinement, now drank from warmed cubes of medical sludge to fill in the ugly gaps of her dulled armor. Tubes and wires embedded in her sides and servos ran in straight and coiled lines to bulky and awkward machines meant to monitor her system's functions and spark frequency. Her prestigious person now wasted on a chair of restriction where not long ago she'd rested on the power of her flawless reputation.

She was ugly, ruined. And it was all that filthy thing's doing.

It cried, reaching for her with its grubby hands.

Magneem shoved the little atrocity away with her stabilizer, reveling in the glassy image of the thin-lipped sneer reflected back at her from round, moist optics. The machines behind her flared up with pestering alerts. Apparently, her spark was experiencing minor disturbances from the creation bond she was cursed to share with it. The sounds continued on, ignored.

It would pay the price for trying to leech life from her frame just as it had when evolving from inside her gestation chamber like a parasite. A stark _red_ , blocky, unworthy parasite.

Not a single drop of energon would it receive so long as Magneem's fool mate expected her to feed and nurture it. It would starve.

Highbrow was taken with it, wrapped around its greedy fingers. The tender expression that softened his neutral features when he held it, oh so maddeningly carefully, cut every circuit throughout her being to her core. It was more than he'd ever given her.

For that reason he would suffer also.

The femme smiled as the creature attempted to cram its whole fist into its dry mouth. For its distasteful behavior, Magneem opened her side of the bond to its fullest, sparing it nothing. Its tiny body jolted and spasmed as if shocked. It was pathetic really, too fragile to defend itself, too innocent to know its very existence was offense enough to condemn it forever in her spark. Yet it called out to her in earnest, clinging to the pain that connected them like it loved her.

Its squalling finally ceased and it lay at her feet in a shivering ball, weakly pawing at its steaming chest plates.

"You'll never learn will you?" She wished it never would.

Too bad- too good -her visitor would be there any second to take Highbrow's sparkling from him.

Roddy thought this had the potential to be his greatest idea ever. That is, until a flat voice confirmed his identity and emitted him through the estate's welcoming, hot iron gates. The job sounded simple and easy enough when on a harmless data pad, but there was nothing to suggest he'd be working in a slaughter house anywhere in the description. A gloomy darkness suspiciously outlined like a dungeon looked down on him, ready to cyberleech the brightness and fun from his young frame. Taking a confident posture he wasn't feeling, Roddy approached the double doors with determination. As ugly and intimidating as HelmStrong manor was, this could potentially be the best excuse and reason for abandoning his creators to each other. With freedom in mind Roddy knocked politely three times and held his intakes.

One… two.. three.. four..

Every second that ticked by had the young mech shifting nervously from pede to pede, his morning fuel lurching up into his throat hotly when his audials picked up the measured pace of steps coming toward the door.

This was no big deal. How hard could an interview with one of the senate's most powerful council mechs be? Maybe he was a kind lord who ran a kind household. Who knows, if he actually got the job and worked hard he might just get along with the other hired help. They could even grow to like him!

The haughty stare the elderly mech behind the partially cracked door was giving Roddy told otherwise. "Good evening… Hot Rod, I presume."

"Um, yes?" Genius. Roddy resisted the urge slap himself.

Unimpressed the bot's optics narrowed, "Come with me then."

The blast of cool air as he walked past the threshold sent shivers of edgy excitement throughout his struts. Almost immediately, Roddy's optics were everywhere, surveying this wealthy mecha's world. The entry room was spacious, but not in the homey sense. Aside from a couple garish abstract artworks decaying on the whitewashed walls, the area was devoid of any personality. The flooring was a gray, shiny polished rock from some faraway organic planet Roddy would never see, and the staircase leading up to the higher wings of the house was most definitely carved out of the blackened chassis' of the terminated.

Death house confirmed.

"Wonder if my uncle is in there." Roddy muttered, eyeing a swirly patch of something suspiciously purple.

"There are strict regulations you must abide if you are to be considered for the position." Startled out of his curiosity, the young bot jumped.

"Yeah, about that! What kinda stuff would I be doing? It wasn't very- clear on the…" Roddy trailed off, embarrassed, "This is my first time, yeah? I don't know how this is supposed to work."

The old bot clicked his denta like it was a habit, "Lord HelmStrong has been waylaid by matters of government, so he will not be available to interview you. However, should you wish it, I'm qualified to handle such minor affairs."

Roddy was just as relieved as disappointed. On one servo, at least he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of Senator Highbrow. On the other, this guy seemed to already have a less than professional opinion about him. But it was either this or remain a torn witness to marital destruction at home forever.

He shrugged, "Yeah, that's fine."

The old mech nodded, and motioned for him to follow, "This way then, and don't touch anything. I must warn you now, those under the good lord's employ only get one mistake, one misdeed before they are let go and given a permanent, harsh report on their resume."

The cranky bot lead the way, and it was all Roddy could do not to groan and make rude gestures and pull faces at the stiff's back. He tread lightly on the stairs, keeping his focus ahead of him and never looking down. He wouldn't be able to keep from squealing like a sparkling if something looked back.

The elder mech was talking at him, going over those rules he'd mentioned, but Roddy only paid half attention. The rest was on the doors in the hallways that they passed, his processor perking with inquisitiveness. They looked to be made of more crazy rare organic materials like the tiles in the entry room. What lie behind these mysterious doors? If he were to be hired would he get to perhaps maintain their secrets, like a butler, a bodyguard maybe? The word 'janitor' flitted about his mind for attention, but he managed to dismiss it easily enough for visions of grandeur and high paying adventure.

As he wondered over his possible future here a small yellow glow coming from a crack of a lonesome door caught his wandering optics. He glanced at his guide to see if he'd noticed as well. The old mech obviously hadn't as he was still moving farther and farther away down the dark hall like he just assumed Roddy was obediently tagging along. As he should be, and he would.

But first.

The young bot swore he caught the halting sound of voices coming from that same tempting place of conundrum he often found getting him into trouble. Could it be servants, foreign guests, enemy spies? He gulped, Decepticons? Roddy startled at the smooth surface suddenly against his hand, just barely taking into account that he'd been inching away from his droning guide and closer to the seam of light. He could almost make out words coming from two separate audio patterns inside. They sounded cross with each other, was there going to be a fight? He grasped the handle that could show him the answers and twisted.

It took a klik for his light receptors to adjust, but when they did-

Roddy's mouth opened just as a frim servo clamped over it, muffling his shout.

"That, Hot Rod, was your one mistake."


	3. Chapter 3

"Why, if it isn't my favorite client," the visitor said, too smooth, too slick, "Lady Magneem!"

One word came to Magneem's mind as she regarded one of the most deceptively conniving moguls of the underworld market: greasy.

"Swindle," the femme clipped in curt greeting, expression hard. To keep from scratching the sudden itch crawling across her chassis, Magneem extended her hand to the other expectantly.

Swindle didn't so much as twitch at the haughty action. He simply laughed (at her).

"Why, Lady Helmstrong, you look positively lively this fine cycle. Care to join me for a refreshing stroll later?"

"No." And he couldn't look any smugger.

Since early this cycle acid had been falling from the dreary sky, and last she checked she was still beholden to her medical chair.

Swindle's shoulder's drooped, fickle hands clasped to his metal bosom in mock sympathy, "Oh, dear, mores the pity… the fresh weather could have worked miracles for your complexion."

Magneem's plating bristled loudly before settling tightly to her sickly protoform. She decided then that she would skip any further formalities and have this business over and done with as quickly as possible. The sooner _it_ was dealt with the sooner Swindle and his friend would lea-

The lady startled at the sudden presence of another, less invited, guest crouched low to the floor just behind the smooth talking pest. The intruder was a mech, dangerous if all those integrated weapons were a clue, and staring in mild curiosity at the little sparkling nibbling on a rather unsightly hook jutting out from the mech's bolted wrist joint where a hand would normally be. Disgusting. He would let it sully his frame with it's bodily fluids.

 _He_ shouldn't be here.

"What is this!?" Magneem demanded, optics trained on the invidious figure behind Swindle, though her outrage was meant for the pompous salesmech. "This was to strictly be a private transaction!"

Swindle held his hands up in a placating gesture, though his tone implied anything but conciliation, "Now, now, Lockdown is the utter epitome of discretion, and quite harmless so long as there isn't a price on your helm. You haven't offended the capital as of late, have you?"

The big bots were talking, but Cliffclimber didn't pay them any mind beyond a small hiccup when his carrier screeched rather shrilly, a bit of her anger slipping through the bond. He was more preoccupied trying to swallow the funny thing hovering just inside his sore mouth. If he wiggled his head just right he could taste it's funniness with his glossa, but when he tried keeping it there with his denta it would slip a frustrating distance away; he couldn't grab it quickly enough with his hands as they hurt a lot.

"Hey, kid. Easy there, it ain't going anywhere."

The sparkling doubled it's efforts as if answering a challenge. It was kinda cute in that sparkling way.

Lockdown would play with the little guy a while, but he had off planet arrangements with an absolutely stunning con-mech lined up for some quality playtime later, and the manor reeked of politics. Nasty business. He would take on a bounty across the galaxy any cycle than wade stabilizer deep in the pretentious bot's literate way of cursing fancy-like back and forth, aimlessly.

Sighing, bored, he called over his shoulder, "Sometime this cycle would be nice princess. Swindle's got other places to be, people to cheat, and your nagging is growing on my nerves. You selling the kid or not?"

Straight to the point.

The femme sneered openly at the bounty hunter, "That remains to be seen."

To Swindle she said, "It has all the standard systems and data of a new spark three mega cycles old, basic extremity coordination, and it's central processor has been upgraded to comprehend primary speech patterns, frequencies, and field signatures."

Lockdown stood and backed away from the sparkling, "You mean he can understand us already? Princess, that's more than a little odd for his age. Way too fragging soon for a new spark."

Magneem pointedly picked at small chips in the enamel of her sharp fingers, "Fortunately, this doesn't concern you. If you were listening properly you'd have also heard that I said primary speech. It can take a hint, and can't talk back." She waved at the sparkling as it crawled toward a steadily retreating Lockdown. "As you can see it's functional. If you need more confirmation-"

Swindle finally stopped her with an upraised servo, "I'll be conducting my own appraisal, my dear."

The con-artist moved to make himself comfortable on the only other serviceable chair and called to the sparkling, humming the new spark's designation playfully, gaining his attention.

"Hop on up here little fellow. Let Swindle get a good look at the merchandise!" The sales mech laughed, patting his lap and gesturing for the sparkling to join him.

Cliffclimber, mesmerized by the dim glow of the never before seen purple of the adult bot's optics made his way forward on wobbly, infantine legs. The big mech's colors were so pretty, his plating looked warm, and something about the soothing tones of his voice sung to the mechling's spark. The stranger made Cliffclimber feel strange in a way that he wasn't sure he liked. He tried to obey the newcomer quickly, and in his excitement, stumbled just short of reaching the chair. The sparkling yelped in distress as he fell. A servo big enough to wrap around the mechling's whole waist and then some stopped his fall. Another pet his little helm fondly before swooping lower to cup his bottom for better support and together the duo deposited a bewildered Cliffclimber somewhere higher than the tiled floor that he's used to.

"Hey, sweet bitty, that could have ended nasty." The mechling nodded his agreement and clung tightly to a firm chassis different from that of his sire's. He had been scared and this adult saved him. The mech child felt it safe if only for a moment in these exotic arms.

Swindle cooed with delight (and something else that Magneem shrugged off as a side effect of the trade) at the affectionate little sparkling as he tried to snuggle his way into the salesmech's armor.

"A hundred thousand credits." Magneem said flatly.

She sneered in disgust as Swindle allowed the abomination to suckle his index finger. "Tut, tut, tut, you should know better. A complete examination now, haggling latter."

"I've had a room prepared-"

"No need, right here will do. Won't it little fellow?" Swindle hummed down at his cozy lap warmer, sharp dentae peeking out from behind a dark smirk.

Magneem moved as if to stand, "I can hardly allow such depravation in my foyer!"

The previously pleasant attitude of the smooth opportunist was lost in a cold instant, "Sit your dainty aft down. You. Hypocrite."

Magneem stilled.

And back as dauntingly cheery as before, "This will only take a klik, isn't that right, cutie!"

The sparkling chirped in distress as he was suddenly turned about, and unceremoniously pushed flat on his tummy, horned helm facing jutting knee guards. A five fingered cage put weight on Cliffclimber's underdeveloped spinal struts, pressing his soft middle against Swindle's leg plating uncomfortably. His empty tanks gurgled unhappy noises from the unexpected pressure, starved systems reminding the mechling of his hunger, and his frightened baby warble turned to pitiful, static filled chirrups.

Swindle's scowl was but a flicker of emotion as he prodded the tiny minibot's frame. The sparkling's protoflesh was so thin he could feel the interior cables tighten and twitch around an emaciated endoskeleton with every one of the little guy's troubled movements. What was more, the salesmech could feel coolant puddling in the crease where his thighs were pressed together to hold Cliffclimber steady. Bending over slightly, Swindle could see the new spark struggling to comfort himself with his stubby fingers. He would bring the naw-marked digits closed to his face before jerking away as if the action pained him, only to desperately trying again.

Swindle stopped his outward inspection of the whimpering sparkling, a removed expression taking over his calculating face. The entrepreneur eyed the femme out of his peripheral vision, taking in her self-satisfied grimace and blatant refusal to acknowledge her deprived sparkling and activate her energon lines.

Well then.

"Unlike our other business transactions, I cannot guarantee Cliffclimber's wellbeing as most of those who are in the market for such delicate items don't treat them- ah -so delicately. Will this hinder our deal?"

Any objections toward such illegal actions weren't immediately forthcoming, and by Magneem's glittering optics none would ever.

Sick femme.

Swindle made a show of caressing the sparkling lewdly, spreading his tawny legs and revealing a tiny privacy barrier.

"Sorry, little bitty." And some part of him was. "This is going to hurt."

Lockdown glowered at the proceedings from the corner he'd ended up in. He watched closely the emotions play on the slim face of the sparkling's carrier, disgust and malice being the most frequent. Mecha like Lady Helmstrong made his spark's temperament moody and his trigger finger happy. Mecha like her were no good for the senate or any other standing. Surely, this vile femme wasn't someone allowed power over the functions of others. Surely, someone with an ounce of common sense had noticed her cruelty to her own child.

When the mechling's pained chirps started weakening the borders of his constitution he turned away, vowing to pass on all invitations for these particular outings with his jeep from then on.

Hot Rod shoved against his captor, snarling and breaking free of the servos clamped around his mouth. His processor swam in muck and he felt dirty despite having washed and polished before his mid-cycle interview.

That purple mech… with that _sparkling_!

That sparkling. He was so tiny. Helpless. And they were-

His tank rolled, his frame knowing before he did, and Roddy was soon on his hands and knees, retching unprocessed fuel all over a carpet worth more than he could earn in a lifetime. Mr. Touchy-Aft Butler definitely wasn't pleased because as Roddy managed to take an intake in between spewing foulness and gaging on raw emotion the elder bot was in his face plates, scowling.

"And that was your second and final mistake. I'm not politely implying that you take your leave now. Either you remover your disgraceful presence from the grounds posthaste or I shall notify and have security escort you out."

 _What!?_

Roddy spluttered, curdled pink spitting from his gaping lips, "Wha-ack! What!? Did you not see- t-that baby-bot! We have t-to stop them-!"

A strength belying age gripped Roddy by the jaw, squeezing hard, " _We_ will not be stopping anything, Hot Rod. While employed in the service of Helmstrong House one takes care of their continued function by taking care that the lords, _and ladies_ , of the House's secrets remain secret. None of what goes on here is any of your business and unless you want to call attention to your family, boy, I suggest you erase whatever you think you saw."

Roddy felt sick all over again, minus the vomiting, "Are you threatening my creators!?"

"Promising, boy, promising."

The edge in other's voice had Roddy scrambling to his pedes. As soon as he was upright the elder had him by the back of his neck cables and steered him down the hall in a gruff manner. The youth's mouth tasted worse than early cycle recharge breath and his throat felt scratchy as he swallowed back fear. He'd been sure his difficult personality would blow this job opportunity to smithereens, but never like this.

Roddy just wanted a break. Just wanted to make something of himself and prove to his creators that he wasn't just a hotheaded clown. To become an elite guard commander was his dream. Working for a senator was a sure way of catching the academy's attention, and making a sweet amount of credits to buy out of his parent's cramped home. This was supposed to be the first step into his majority and Roddy hadn't anticipated that he'd be doubly underprepared to handle the cruelty of noble mecha and their underhanded dealings.

One word out of line and they would come after his sire and carrier.

He felt so lost that the herding jabs to his frame did nothing. He registered that he was walking, but his cabling tensed, his knees gave every other step, and his spark pulsed angrily as if to scream that he was fleeing from the place he needed to be like a coward; his own frame rebelling.

They'd stopped on account of his not moving and he was reminded, "Your family, boy."

Fear of his parent's burned bodies being identified in the charred remains of their meager home in an unforeseeable accident, of their grayed, sightless optics accusing him encouraged Roddy to descend the Primus-awful stairs two at a time.

Had his missing uncle been done away with in a similar fashion?

Mr. Touchy-Aft Butler had opened the door and was gesturing for him to step through it. And he was going to, but-

The image of a thrashing body- so small -pinned down with nothing more than a single servo stuck to Roddy'd immediate conscience like a bad dream on instant replay. It looked so effortlessly done, barely any pressure required to make the new spark cry. So, _so_ terribly wrong. Baby-bots were precious, that's what his sire said. What everyone said.

Roddy tortured himself, re-watching those cord-thin arms shake as tiny hands made gabbing motions at the femme hooked up to the freaky machines. She must be his creator, Roddy fervently hoped, but then she had done nothing. She'd only stared on like it was a thing to be done.

Too shocked by his revelation, Roddy almost didn't feel the steadily growing heat of the old mech's glare until the sound of an activated coms alerting security caught his audials and drew his focus to the other.

"Wait, you'll help him won't you? P-please, you work here. He's just a baby-bot!"

The old mech only frowned harder, thrusting the umbrella Roddy had used as mobile shelter on the way to this mad house into his imploring servos. "Be on your way. Now."

He stumbled forward, "Alright, alright, I'm going. Please, I'm going."

The door slammed against his back before he was completely across the threshold, shutting him out, and sealing an innocent new spark in. As soon as he thought this he wished he'd stood his ground and persuaded the old mech to help.

…they could hurt his parents, they were nobles with voices in the government.

Roddy should leave, take off and never come back or utter a word of it again. But he could also see the disappointment in his sire's optics. So instead, he flattened himself against the wall to the side of the manor's entrance. Someone had to do something! That baby-bot was worth at least his inadequate rescue skills. He just needed some time to think up a plan like an elite commander would in this situation is all.

The door opened. There was a glimpse of bright red. Roddy's frame knew, yet again, before he did, and then he was running like Decepticons were on his tailpipe, one baby-bot along for the ride.

Youngster, his sire called him when he made rash decisions. More like fool in Roddy's updated opinion.

"Did you really have to do that?" Lockdown growled as they left that dull room, and that wretched femme.

Swindle's spark beat a mite faster at his merc's sensitivity. Lockdown could chuck most all ethics out the airlock, but his partiality for sparklings simply melted Swindle's struts.

He spoke softly, to ease the softy, "She wouldn't have let him go unless she were certain he would suffer greatly. Better that I took his seals than- Tell me you understand. I wouldn't have you think so little of me."

Lockdown hummed, staring intently at the bundle in the jeep's arms.

Swindle rubbed at Cliffclimber's shallowly inflating and deflating tummy to further lull him into recharge. He adjusted the bandages wrapped around the tike's pelvic span, taking special care not to press more than a mite against the agitated plating.

"She was also distracted enough that she didn't question my offer which was exceedingly low considering our lordling here is a carrier. That all but declares that piece of trash shareware has no idea his value." He left that out there for Lockdown to wrestle with.

"You're something else, you know that?" Lockdown drew close to his jeep, hooking his arm with his.

Swindle's smile made this venture worth it.

The sour mech at the skulking about the entry room let them out.

There was an adolescent battle cry and just like that their newest acquisition was gone, snatched away by a crazy kid with a bent umbrella.

The bounty hunter powered his optics on and off, but the sparkling napper kept dwindling into a blurry dot the further distance he gained from them.

"Did that… just happen?"

The only thing holding Swindle up was the servo Lockdown had entwined with his, he was laughing so hard.

The capitalist wiped the coolant from his face on his partner's shoulder plating, "Oh-ah-haha, L-Lockdown! Take care of that would you? H-Haha!"

Lockdown didn't bother to hide his displeasure from the hysterical mess on the front porch of Helmstrong manor, shoving Swindle off and tearing down the path to the front gates in his rigged up altmode.

Swindle was barely able convey to the ancient/grouchy bot that he would be able to cover the expenses for importing new grass through his wheezing.


End file.
